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muffin-snakes-art · 4 months

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Hi. So I’m not a Layton guy and all THAT familiar with the lore, but a close friend of mine is, and as far as I understand Layton has a dead girlfriend? Can I please know who Magolor’s dead girlfriend equivalent in this AU is? I’m legitimately so curious. /pos

I have been thinking A LOT about which Kirby character would fit Claire's (dead gf) role. In the end I chose Taranza bc I feel he and Claire are the most similar in character. They're both really good at what they do (Claire: brilliant scientist - Taranza: immaculate mage), quick thinkers, humble, and have a lot of love to give.

I'll explain more under the cut (along with images of Claire and younger Layton for design ref), but Taranza could've also fit in as a couple other characters bc I made Sectonia as Descole. In this essay I will-

In Kirby there's an interesting connection between Magolor and Taranza. Primarily based on that one Magolor portrait in that haunted house in Triple Deluxe (like ok huh????) and also that one Star Allies Wave 3 illustration.

With that portrait existing, to me it implies that Magolor has met Taranza and Sectonia before the events of the game somehow. This theory is further backed up with the Old Friend mask in Merry Magoland. Magolor would HAVE to have known what Joronia looked like before her transformation, and that means he would also have met Taranza too at that time. I could be completely wrong about this HAHA but those are my thoughts on that.

When Wave 3 was announced, I didn't think much on the connection of the 3 characters other than they were from the first three core games of modern Kirby. But then they posted this art piece.

It's so cute how Magolor and Taranza combined their magic to create a shield for Kirby!! Both of their respective magic circle designs are melded together perfectly. Did they practice together on their own to perform this or was that a lucky in-the-moment occurrence? Either way, they must know and understand each other's magic abilities to a decent extent. Like how both Claire and Layton understands each other's careers and goals. Layton is a professor in archeology. Claire is a scientist researching time travel and other stuffs. Those fields go hand in hand, and the two do what they can to support and improve each other's passions.

Now onto the other characters that Taranza would've fit as and reasons why I ended up putting him as Claire.

So I put Sectonia as Descole. Descole has an extremely loyal partner/butler/henchman named Raymond. Yea Taranza would easily fit as him, but a few things made me decide not to. Descole may appear cold and not show it, but even in his madness he cares for Raymond. He does order Raymond around, but he still gives Raymond freewill to do as he pleases. Sectonia is very controlling over Taranza. If Raymond were to make mistakes, I don't see Descole punishing him for them. Sectonia would. She blasted Taranza away for mistaking Dedede as the hero of the lower world. Maybe when she was Joronia she wouldn't and wasn't as controlling but....I feel we don't have the full story on their relationship. I also focused more on Sectonia's overall in-game personality. I absolutely love seeing the two spiders enjoying each other's company and having fun, but in-game we never really got what Joronia really thought of Taranza. As Sectonia, she saw him as a disposable servant. You can say her personality was corrupted by the mirror, but I personally believe the mirror actually amplified her negative feelings and views. Negative emotions are brought up a lot in Kirby lore. I personally find that more interesting than just the mirror possessing her or something. I may be very wrong on that, but those are what I thought about.

Last reason, which is uhm, Raymond saves Descole from death FGDHSJ I don't think I need to elaborate on that. It would be so neat and ironic to have Taranza as Raymond, but I also wanna keep things in line as possible with Kirby lore canon.

Yet, who could be Raymond then? Idk fgdsj that's why I struggled so much. If Claire wasn't an option, Taranza would've been Raymond.

Now the one other character Taranza could've fit as is Descole's late wife. His wife was never mentioned by name, to my memory, and didn't have a huge role in the games. There's not enough information on who she was. I wanted to give Taranza a fitting role in personality and importance.

So in the end after all that thinking, Claire it is! I also don't know who else in the Kirby cast would fit her better and be Professor Magolor's late partner. One may think Susie would fit Claire more, but I've already decided she will be Emmy. Emmy's and Susie's personalities are very similar to me. And Emmy's lore? Fits quite well with Susie's. I'll draw that at some point.

So uh yea. Thanks for reading all that if you did! Hope you enjoyed the insanity

#feel free to disagree!#I thought about this for the past few days I am unwell #i spent a good few hours writing this #there are many other important things i could've put my time into but this is very important to me #one last thing...#I've also decided who'll be Don Paolo #mark HAHA #it sounds so dumb knowing the story but also fitting in character???#that may change but I can't stop thinking about Don Marx......#asks #anon ask #kirby #magolor #taranza #sectonia #PLxKirby #professor layton #hershel layton #claire foley #jean descole #nintendo #hal laboratory #fanart #clip studio paint #magoranza/taranzolor get yo food #i don't ship characters but this is a cute ship and I see the appeal #i feel there's more to say about Magolor's and Taranza's connection #and how it parallels Claire's and Layton's story #but I can't figure out how to word it and it's mostly hc based #am tired idk how to write

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helianthus21 · 1 month

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one day Vin looked at Paolo like "this dude sucks, can I get a do-over?" and then he got Han-seo<3

#vincenzo #jang han seo #video edit #my edit #paolo (vincenzo)#this kinda doesnt really fit but look #i looked up brother songs and this one came up ajdsk #also don't look at the lighting i have literally no idea about this #im jus playin<3 #the way they both just had brothers who sucked and then they found each other #never not emotional about this #i really thought hanseo said 'ur not my brother ur a monster' to hsk tho #would've incorporated this if i found it huh #did i srsly make that up in my head??

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citruscore · 1 year

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Big W for the Layton community today! Can’t wait to see any fan art you make in the future for the new game! Is there anything that you personally want to see in the new game? I’d like to see Flora return (I miss my girl so much)!

Well, my initial worry was that this would take place post lmj which i think a lot of agree was uh. not very great to put it nicely. but now that we know that's not the case...

All i want to see some good interactions between my boys!!

(and lots of thoughts in the tags)

#i dont really have any hopes right now i mostly have questions!!!#is this post UF? if not is it like.... au stuff??? sjhgkafh #do we get a new villain? surely i mean i dont think don paolo's coming back but god would it be funny #i guess one specific hope would be i hope the plot is more a la CV/DB/LS #you know? like i dont think we need another hershel backstory ashfbas #BUT back to these two #if this IS post UF then im so excited to see these two reunite ill probably cry #idk theyre so special to me. im gonna be writing dissertations on every conversation they have when this comes out #theyre family theyre best friends theyre professor and apprentice.#my brain is kind of fried from the news so my thoughts are very scrambled jafdlahl appologies

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youjustwaitsunshine · 19 days

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i love you historical epics with prefaces and footnotes i love you bilingual historical epics with side by side verses i love you historical context i love you endless appendices i love you explanation for the historical text that makes up half the book

#one of my goals is reading as many historical epics/epic poems as possible #i have a side by side translation of beowulf and one of the divine comedy that i dearly love #rn im reading gilgamesh and kicking myself that i didn't take a chance i had to go on an archeological dig in northern iraq #which would have literally not worked out with the timing in any way but whateverrrr #but yeah also i am in the process of downloading all arthuriana i can get my dirty little fingers on #i have multiple odysseys and iliads #need a version of the knight in the panther's skin #also need to make my way into central and south asian stories next #also i love that my bf is a huge nerd about at least dante (working on the others) too and we can quote the inferno to each other #also his first reaction to francesca by hozier when i told him it was about the inferno was #oh it's about francesca da rimini and paolo malatesta? i always thought those two were so cute #hnnmgh

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stormyoceans · 1 year

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I like how you headcanon Day as more proactive (like a nice parallel to Vice Versa and PuenTalay where Puen was more proactive). Let baby gay be horny for his poor hot mechanic boyfriend. Btw we know very small amount of information but how do you WANT it to be: do you want Day to be gay? Or bi? And what about Mork? Do you want them/one of them to have dating experience? What should be their view of love be?

im SO HAPPY you like the idea of day being the more proactive one because i think that's really one of the thing i want the most out of this show!!!! i also think it fits what little we saw of them in the mock trailer: mork is flirty, but he's also older and works as day's caretaker, so he's painfully aware of - as he calls them - "the boundaries of his responsibility", which is probably what is going to stop him from pursuing an actual relationship with day. day, on the other hand, doesn't have these qualms, and at the end of the trailer he is the one to go in for a kiss, so i LOVE the idea of day going after what he wants once he realizes his feelings for mork

as for your questions, right now im mostly headcanoning mork as bi and day as gay, similarly to puentalay, though i wouldn’t really be able to explain why ;;;;; i also think mork has definitely dated before, while im not so sure about day: he’s an athlete, so he must have been really popular in school, but it also means that all his energies were probably devoted to training and that he didn’t have time to hang out with friends, much less to actually date

and maybe it’s because of this difference in their experiences, but i would love to see mork being kinda disillusioned when it comes to love and day being the more.. idealistically romantic one. mork is in debt and can’t see a future for himself, and maybe in the past he had some relationships that didn’t end well, so i could easily imagine him thinking that love isn’t really for him because he doesn’t believe he gets to have a happy ending, while day seems to like stories, and love in stories is always passionate and sensational and bigger than yourself, so that’s what he expects for himself too. it would be nice if by being together they could learn that happiness and love are in the small gestures they choose to give and receive from each other every day

#honestly just give me mork and day arguing about their personal view of love over books #day makes mork read him ‘romeo and juliet’ which sparks a week long debate between them #mork thinks they were fools who should have just forgotten about their feelings because it was never going to end well #day thinks that no matter how it ended or however brief it was the most important thing is that they did get to love each other #OH YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE I WOULD LOVE #a kiss spurred by a book they're reading like paolo and francesca in dante's inferno #'when as we read of the much-longed-for smile/being by such a noble lover kissed/this one who ne’er from me shall be divided/#kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating'#anyway #the fact that im already so rabid about them cannot possibly be good for my health #also sorry for the late reply anon!!!#kinda had a hard time putting my thoughts into words and i still feel like half of what i wrote isn't in english #but thank you so much for giving me the chance to talk about them!!!!!#ilu 💜#last twilight #morkday #m: ask

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english-history-trip · 11 months

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Ever see a depiction of St. George and the Dragon? It's pretty fair to say if you've seen one, you've seen them all: Georgie on a horse stabbing a flailing dragon creature, princess piously kneeling in the background, vague landscape alluding to the homeland of the artist's patron.

The most varied part is the dragons. No one had a real definition for the thing, it seemed. For your pleasure and entertainment, I have ranked some medieval depictions based on how impressive George's feat seems once you see the dragon.

Paolo Uccello, 1456

This is a terrifying beast. The hell is that. Uccello was one of the first experimenters with perspective, so the thing also looks surreal, like it's taking place on Mars, or a Windows 95 screensaver. I would not want to fight that, I would not want to be tied to that. (Sometimes the princess is tied to the dragon for some reason.) 10/10

Horse thoughts: Maybe if I look at the ground it will be gone when I look up

Unknown artist, c. 1505

This is a rare change of form for the dragon; it's the only one I've seen actually flying (or at least falling with style). It doesn't look particularly deterred by the spear through its throat, either. Also, George looks appropriately nervous. On the other hand, it hasn't got teeth, it seems to be fuzzy rather than having scaly armor, and George is bolstered by his army of Henry VII and his children, most of whom definitely didn't actually die in infancy. Still, wouldn't want to fight it, wouldn't want my pet sheep near it. (Sometimes the princess has a pet sheep for some reason.) 9/10

Horse thoughts: I am so glad I wore my mightiest feather helmet for this

Raphael, 1505

We are coming to Dragons With Problems. This guy looks about comparable in size to George, and does have wings, but doesn't seem to be using these things to his advantage (and has he only got one wing?) And how does he deal with the neck? He does have a comically small head, but holding it up with such a twisty neck seems complicated at best. But most egregiously, he is doing the shitty superheroine pose where he is somehow simultaneously showcasing his chest and his butt, with its unnecessarily defined butthole (more on this later) (regrettably). 8/10 bc it's Raphael

Horse thoughts: AM I THE BESTEST BOI? AM I DOING SUCH A GOOD JOB? WE R DRAGON SLAYING BUDDIEZ

The Beauchamp Hours, c. 1401

We had a spirited debate about this one at work. Again, the dragon has gotten smaller, and this one hasn't got even one wing. He's basically a crocodile. So the debate became: would you want to fight a crocodile if you had a horse and a pointy stick? Would the horse trample the animal, who can't get on its hind legs, or freak out and throw its rider? Would the pointy stick be enough to pierce the croc's thick hide? In this case, George seems to be controlling his horse and putting his pointy stick in the dragon's weak spot, so we can be impressed by his skill and strategy. However, his hat is dumb. 7/10

Horse thoughts: Dehhhh

Book of Hours, c. 1480

Here we have the same kind of croco-dragon, but George's focus on his strategy has gone out the window. He's flailing around, not even looking at his target, he's about to lose his pointy stick, he hasn't got a hand on the reins, and his sword seems to only be poking the invisible dragon over his shoulder. All he's got going for him is that his hat is slightly less dumb. 6/10

Horse thoughts: Yay, new friend! Come play with me, new fr- what is happening

Final dragons put behind this Read More for your safety:

Rogier van der Weyden, c. 1432

I'm thinking this guy is at least semi-aquatic. Webbed feet, wings that seem more like fins, bipedal but top-heavy, jaws that seem more for scooping than biting. Maybe she's crawled up here from the nearby body of water to lay her eggs, and this is all a big misunderstanding. Moreover, George's dagged sleeves seem entirely impractical for the situation. 5/10

Horse thoughts: i got my hed stuk in a jar and now it is this way forever

Unknown artist, c. 15th century

I hate this. I hate everything about it. Why has it got human eyes and teeth. Why is its nose melting. Why has it got a dick on its face and balls under its chin. The fin/wings are back but they look even more useless. Also, George is shifty as hell, schlumped over in his saddle with his bowler hat thing over his eyes. The baby dragon at the bottom eating some hapless would-be rescuer is kind of metal. 4/10 at least the thing is gonna die

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Crack

Book of Hours, c. 1450

Remember what I said about the buttholes? First, sorry. Second, yeah, we're back to that. I'll admit this one is less about the danger from the dragon itself than the very specific choices the artist has made. They didn't need to do that. It's a lizard. They don't even have. And it's like they had an orifice budget and they skipped an exit wound for the spear to focus. Elsewhere. It's so detailed. And George had an even dumber hat. 2/10 take it away

Horse thoughts: I Have Smoked So Much Weed

Book of Hours, c. 1415

This is just bullying. There isn't even a princess. That is clearly an infant. Look at that smug look on George's face as he swings his sword that's bigger than the whole little guy. This is the equivalent of when DJT Jr. hunted those sleeping endangered sheep. 1/10

Horse thoughts: ....yikes

And this is the previous one, but now the baby dragon is cute. He's chubby. He's got toe beans. He's Puff the Magic Dragon. His eyes have already gone white, implying that George is just kicking its corpse around for funsies. What's the difference between the dragon and the lamb in the background? That the dragon is dead, like our innocence. This George is truly deserving of the dumbest hat of all. 0/10 plus one more butthole for the road

Horse thoughts: Perhaps it is we who are the buttholes.

#art history #nonsense #hot takes #I am doing a St. George painting and have been wading through reference material #manuscript #fuck me I didn't notice van der Weyden managed to sneak a butthole in his too #the definitive list #when knighthood was in flower

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magicwhiskers29 · 1 year

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When I said it was weird to be posting art before writing, I meant I was nearly done writing, but not actually quite... until now hah

#professor layton #fanfic #don paolo #hershel layton #claire foley #Some other characters that I'm too lazy to tag here #I thought it was weird to say I was a writer in my bio but not link any of my fics other than one here #I'll probably start now #And I think I prefer this smaller format for linking #Yes I'm back writing too-long one-shots #Whiskers writes #Unwound future spoilers

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delfiore · 5 months

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—NOTHING IN THE WORLD BELONGS TO ME (BUT MY LOVE).

pairing: aitana bonmatí x reader

synopsis: a picture of you and aitana making out during a team party is leaked online.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: she's my bbg your honor.

“Thank you. Yeah, call me whenever you need to.”

You ended the phone call and groaned into your hand. It was almost dinnertime, but you had no energy left to even think of cooking after being on the phone for literal hours.

Walking into the living room, you found Aitana watching TV, or rather, the screen was on but she was staring into space somewhere.

“Paolo said it’s murky because we were in a public space, but not really ‘cause it was in the hallway. He’s getting paid to win this case though, and that he will,” you said.

Aitana looked at you briefly with a half smile.

She hasn’t talked much since this morning when the news came. You felt guilty for not having sat with her longer, but you needed to get your attorney involved as soon as possible.

“It’ll be okay, babe, I promise,” you sat next to her and put your arm around her shoulder. Still, she seemed tense.

“Is it . . .” Aitana drew a breath, “is it really that bad? That people know about us now?”

You sighed quietly, pulling your arm away to hold her downcast gaze. “It doesn’t matter. They sold those pictures to the press against our will. They infringed on our rights. I thought you understood that.”

Your tone came out harsher than you anticipated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .”

“No, todo bien.” She shook her head and sat up. “You want takeout or no?”

You mentally cursed at yourself as she turned off the TV. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

You watched her walk over to the island by the kitchen, to pick up her phone.

“Tana,” you said, and she turned around. “Te quiero mucho.”

Aitana mustered up the best smile she could, and you recognized that. She knew you were burdened with the responsibility of talking to attorneys, and you were trying very hard, but she was a bit disappointed that you wanted so badly to stop the pictures from going public. She was never good at the legal part, she didn’t know a lot, but she trusted you to make the right decisions, and she loved you a lot too.

The pictures were taken the night before, while you were out with the team to celebrate another league title win. It was the end of the season, and it would be a few weeks before the summer international break, and your teammates were down to party at a local club for the hard work of another season.

It had been an eventful one, full of trials and tribulations, for you especially. Having undergone a surgery, you were forced to the sidelines for a good chunk of the season. Aitana had been there with you through everything; staying in the hospital after your surgery, preparing your shared home for your foreseeable impediment, reminding you to take your daily meds . . . She was the only reason you were still standing, because the toll the injury took on you physically was a speck compared to how it did on you mentally.

You had gone to get another drink and, upon you returning, found Aitana dancing with some of your teammates on the dance floor. Grinning and shaking your head, you could never get enough of how much of a party animal your girlfriend could become when she was able to. A tint of pink adorned her cheeks when she spotted you and pulled you towards the dance floor with her.

“I’ll take that, thank you,” you pretended to be offended when she took the glass from your hand and took a sip, grimacing as soon as she did. “Ooh! It’s strong!”

“Slow down, baby,” you laughed at her.

Aitana snorted, “lame.” She slung her arm around your neck, as you giggled into her ear. “Come here.”

“Not here,” you shook your head and gently pushed her away.

You could just barely make out a her huff, as she pulled away. “You’re no fun. Let loose for one night, will you?”

A few drinks later, you found yourself with your arm slung around Lucy as the two of you led the disharmonious choir of Barcelona players singing (badly) to the music.

You heard Aitana cackling in the corner as the song finished, doubling over and clapping her hands at your drunken rendition of a Zedd song.

“Let’s go, everyone! Next round’s on me!” You said and your teammates cheered.

Your eyes found your girlfriend by your side, just as she always was, waiting to take care of you and share your happiness.

Her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling you to her, as you felt her laughter vibrate against your chest. You had pulled her away from the main floor and into a secluded hallway, or at least it was what you thought in your drunken haze.

Your lips were pressed against hers hungrily, with passion better saved for the privacy of your shared bedroom rather than a packed nightclub. Aitana let out a trembling sigh, enjoying the sweet taste of your kiss and the push and pull of your hands along her body.

“God, you’re so good to me,” you whispered into her lips. “I love you.”

She was oblivious to the storm that was to come when a club-goer snapped a picture of the two of you. Though the lighting left much to be desired, your features were captured perfectly, and within context, people put two and two together.

Aitana was the first to see the photo when she woke up the next morning. Maybe it’s not so bad, she had told herself, at least people know now.

She only regretted seeing the pure bliss on your face disappear the moment you found the picture online, and you had been on-call with your attorney ever since.

You never really shook off the tension that resided between your eyebrows, in the curl of your upper lip, and your shoulders over the next few days. You, Aitana, and the rest of the team were back in pre-season training, and everyone could tell you were stressing over it. Though you took training seriously, there was always a smile on your face even when someone had beaten you in a drill. Yet now, you scowled and kicked the grass whenever you lost the ball, or whenever someone dribbled past you. It got to the point where you got yourself into a scuffle with Lucy. Aitana had looked over at the commotion, and seen you all up in Lucy’s personal space, arguing with her, as a couple of the assistant coaches had to separate you from her.

Aitana hated the pitiful looks her teammates would give her afterwards. She clenched her jaw and watched Jonatan lead you inside for a talk. She was planning on giving you an earful when she caught you alone, but when you emerged with Jonatan, your eyes were bloodshot like you had been crying.

You refused to talk the entire car ride home, even refusing to look at her, opting to look out the window instead.

The moment you got home, you threw your dirty clothes into the laundry and headed upstairs.

“You want me to reheat leftovers, cariño?” She tried to ask.

“No, thanks,” you didn’t even look back. “I’m just gonna go and take a nap.”

You woke up around 8 pm. Aitana knew because she was downstairs watching TV when you skirted down the stairs like an apparition and crept into the kitchen looking for food.

She took the opportunity when you were distracted with dumping the rest of the content from the Tupperware onto a plate. Snaking her arms around your waist, she pressed her head onto your shoulder. She sighed in relief when she felt the warmth of your right hand encircle her own.

“I embarrassed myself today, didn’t I?” You said quietly.

Aitana pursed her lips and pulled you around to look at her. “That wasn’t very nice, no.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

“It’s not me you need to say sorry to,” your girlfriend sighed and hugged you tightly. “We will be okay, my love.”

“I just think about those picture, and I just . . .” You exhaled sharply and buried your nose into her neck. “Fuck, I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Yeah?” Aitana frowned, and cupped your cheeks, leaning in. “Why don’t I distract you for a bit?”

Her lips found yours in a tender kiss. For a moment, you let yourself get lost in the feeling of her touch and her love. Your lips slotted together in a kiss that became more intimate the moment Aitana slipped her hands under your shirt and caressed your pelvis. You groaned as you felt her drag her fingertips towards your back, stretching your waistband and pulling it further out so she could feel further down.

“Fuck . . .” You groaned impatiently, cupping her neck roughly as you used your hips to press her back against the counter.

She was breathless now, one hand in your shorts and the other itching to get your shirt off, but you pulled away before she could do anything.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this today,” you sighed, detaching yourself from her completely to return to making your food.

Aitana watched you put the leftovers into the microwave before leaving you in the kitchen. She understood that you were stressed, but she was thrown off by the way you have been pushing her away the past few days. She knew herself; if she said something, you would say something, and before she knew it things would turn into an argument and someone would say something they didn’t mean.

Pushing the scenario to the back of her head, she headed upstairs to get ready for bed.

In the following days, she felt you pulling away further and further from her. The only times she really saw you were during training, otherwise you would avoid her completely. She spotted you standing in a hallway looking out the window once. Upon approaching you, she noticed you were on the phone with your earbuds in, and against her better judgment, left you be.

Your teammates noticed the sudden rift between you and Aitana too—you two who were always stuck at the hip, you two who turned to each other first in times of victory and defeat, you two whom everyone bet on tying the knot first. Frido was the first to reach out, and had Aitana brushed it off like it was something trivial, but her teammate saw right through the lie. Aitana was Aitana, never asking for help and always having gotten by on her own, but this time her Frido knew it was severe, because Aitana never misses a goal in training, never.

During a match at the weekend, Aitana scored. Usually, she would look to you and jump into your arms to celebrate, but this time, you were already walking back to the halfway line while several of her teammates swarmed her in glee. She felt sick to her stomach, she felt like everything was her fault, and her frustration built and before she knew it, she had stomped on an opponent’s ankle in an attempt to win the ball back. When she realized the weight of the situation, it was already too late; the incident happened just next to the sidelines in front of the assistant referee, and she was shown a red card for using excessive force.

Barcelona won, of course, as they always have, even whilst playing away and down to 10 men. You walked into the dressing room, feeling the on-set fatigue coming on. You glanced at the broken bottle and the puddle of energy drink into one corner of the room, then Aitana sitting in her cubby in the other. You haven’t been very kind to her the past few days, and you doubted that she’d want your comfort anyway because of that. Plus, you weren’t in the mood to talk to her right now; what she did was immature and out of line. What you didn’t know was that she had thrown that bottle across the room and blamed herself, wishing that she’d be able to cry into your arms. Instead, she had pressed her legs to her chest, and hugged herself as she cried alone in that dressing room.

Frido found out, of course; everyone has their breaking point eventually, even the strongest and most resilient. Frido told Ingrid, Ingrid told Mapi, Mapi got angry, and confronted you one day.

In her fury—and maybe in yours too—you didn’t make out everything she hurled at you, but you recognized an insulting word when you heard one. Instead of turning away like you had initially intended, you turned around and lunged at her.

“What did you say to me?! Say it again. I dare you!”

Frido had to drag you away, and it was her stern look alone that de-escalated the situation.

“She started it first!” You shoved her away as you took deep breaths through the worst of your anger.

“She was right to call you that, Y/N. You are a fucking asshole,” she said. You turned around, expecting her to apologize, but you saw no trace of remorse.

“What the fuck?”

“You’re an asshole. You don’t even notice your girlfriend is suffering.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “What did she tell you? That I’ve been busy trying to get these fucking pictures taken down? Because someone violated my privacy? Her privacy? Because I won’t pay attention to her for one goddamn second?”

The Swede scoffed and shook her head. “Listen to yourself. You’ve become despicable. I understand that you’re going through a hard time, but so is Aitana. People are talking about her too. You don’t think she’s also stressed out? She won’t ask you for help because she’s Aitana and she would never ask anyone for help. You knew that better than anyone, yet you’ve left her all alone, you asshole!”

Frido was yelling at you, scolding you like a child. Your anger bubbled, but it soon turned into guilt when her words sunk in.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Y/N. Aitana deserves the respect that everyone has given her, except you.”

She pushed past you roughly, and you felt the weight of her scolding. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and it was an incoming text from your lawyer.

“We have grounds to press charges, and we’ll most likely win if you choose to do so. Let me know what you and Aitana decide on.”

“Fuck”, you locked your phone with an impending need to throw it into the window pane in front of you.

This was what you wanted ever since you saw that picture on Twitter, but now you weren’t sure if it was the right course of action anymore. Your insistence on press charges has made you become a rotten human being, and looking back at the last few days, you didn’t recognize this person you have become. Picking fights with your teammates, being a sore loser in training games, abandoning Aitana. You had no idea what she was thinking the past few days, and it scared you. She used to tell you everything.

Your knees gave out below you, and you felt the exhaustion from the last week come crashing down. You took a seat on a nearby bench and cradled your head in your hands. There was the sound of studs clicking evenly against the ground beside you before the bench strained under the weight of another body.

Looking up you saw Mapi leaning against the bench looking at you with a soft expression.

You were too tired to fight, but you didn’t think Mapi was here to continue where you both left off before, which was why it surprised you that she was here.

“Sorry for calling you a cabró,” she said casually, looking away.

“You’re not wrong,” you muttered. “I am a cabró, the biggest cabró there ever was.”

You felt her strong hand on your shoulder. “Todos cometen errores, amiga. Se trata de si intentas enmendarlo o no. Entonces, ¿lo harás?” (”Everyone makes mistakes, bud. It’s about whether you try to make up for it or not. So, will you?”)

You pursed your lips, finding comfort in Mapi’s generosity. “Where’s Aitana?”

"Viene a casa para pasar la noche con nosotros. Te sugiero que le des espacio y uses este tiempo para reflexionar sobre tus acciones también.” (“She's coming home to stay overnight with us. I suggest you give her some space and use this time to reflect on your actions too.”)

You nodded as Mapi gave you one last pat on the shoulder before taking her leave. You were glad to have friends such as Mapi, Ingrid, and Frido. In your egotism, at least Aitana still had your friends.

Upon returning to an empty home, you felt creeping in a sense of loneliness that you haven’t felt in a long, long time. The last time you felt like this, Barcelona had just won its first ever Champions League in the women’s club history, and you had gone home by yourself after a night out celebrating. Playing in a foreign country, you didn’t feel so isolated until you witness your teammates celebrating wins with their family, friends, and significant others. Your loneliness was short-lived though, as it was Aitana that came knocking on your door, wanting to stay with you. It was the night of your first kiss, and the night from which you hadn’t felt lonely ever since.

There hasn’t been a text or call from Aitana at all, and you knew you had fucked up big time.

“Can’t begin to say how sorry I am for the way I’ve been treating you,” you texted her. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll pick you up from Mapi’s and there will be love waiting for you at home.”

You spent the rest of the night watching TV, keeping your phone by your side at all times in case your girlfriend wanted to reach you, but the screen stayed black the entire time.

At Mapi and Ingrid’s, Aitana was laughing at something Mapi had said. The three women were slightly buzzed from the wine they had drunken earlier at dinner, and Aitana had felt lighter than she has the entire week. She saw your text as soon as it was sent to her phone, but opted not to response for her own peace of mind. Despite her heart still aching when she thought about the way you acted, she couldn’t help the little smile that made its way onto her lips reading it.

She will always be able to find it in her somewhere to love you, and she could only hope that you could do the same for her because she would rather go through thunderstorms with you than lie in a field of roses with someone new.

You jolted as you thought you might have forgotten the house keys when you walked up to Mapi and Ingrid’s. Patting your back pocket, you were quickly reassured that you had them with you, as you made a mental note of where everything was.

Ingrid opened the door for you with a smile, and invited you inside.

“Pretty flowers,” she said, gesturing at the large bouquet you had in your hands.

You smiled proudly and muttered a ‘thank you’. You eyes quickly found your girlfriend conversing with Mapi by the kitchen island, and your heart began beating wildly.

Her eyes landed on you, as you had half-expected a disapproving frown and her ignoring you to carry on her conversation. Instead, she offered you a smile and walked towards you.

“Hi,” you said. Attempting to say any more than that and you risked looking like a blabbering buffoon from the mess of a mind you had.

“Hi,” she mirrored your tone in a teasing manner. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Here you go,” you handed her the bouquet and said goodbye to Mapi and Ingrid.

“Thank you,” you whispered to the both of them after Aitana had gotten into the car. The ride home was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You would look over once in a while, seeing her watch the scenery flash by through the window. At a red light, you gathered the courage to reach out and grab her hand. This elicited a giggle from the girl, as you brought her hand up to kiss the back of it just as the light turned green.

Aitana stopped by the door the moment she saw your apartment. It was spotless, everything was clean and tidy, and lit by the few lamps you had chosen to leave on, casting a warm glow over the entire place. The dinner table had been set like it belonged in a high-end restaurant, with a white tablecloth set perfectly across the middle and a few candles to highlight.

“I got antsy at home, so I decided to clean up a bit. Hopefully, it doesn’t look too sterile,” you laughed and scratched the back of your neck.

“No, it’s . . . it’s perfect.”

You smiled bashfully and offered to take the flowers for her. There was hesitancy in the way you stepped away from her to prepare the bouquet to put them in a vase like the distance might dilute this warm air between you. You didn’t want to be away from her for too long; you had suffered the past couple of days without her.

When you returned, Aitana was on the couch on her phone. From the way she instantly looked up from it as she heard you coming in, you reckoned she was nervous too. You placed the vase on the dinner table and took a seat next to her.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“I know,” Aitana said, and stroked your head.

Taking a deep breath, you put your head on her lap, and tried to steady your breathing.

“I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you. You didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry for leaving you alone.” You spewed, trying your very best to form coherent words out of the thoughts that have been racing in your head for days. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. You’ve always been so good to me, and I hate myself for not doing the same for you when it mattered.”

Aitana was quiet, but from the way her breath trembled as she drew it, you could tell she was trying not to cry, and it made you tear up too.

You sat up and held her gaze. “I won’t let something that was out of my hands destroy us. I may not be able to control it when someone posts a picture of us, but I can control how I react to it.”

“What did Paolo say?” Aitana questioned.

“That we’ll win if we press charges, but I’m tired of letting this consume me. So I’ll let you decide whether we do or not.”

Aitana pursed her lips. “I don’t think it’s worth it. I’m sorry we weren’t able to tell the world about us ourselves, but I’m glad it’s out there now.”

You nodded and smiled at her, “I’m so sorry.”

Shaking her head, she pulled you into her chest. “I forgive you,” she planted a kiss on your forehead. “You’re my love. I love you so much. I didn’t want to burden you.”

You nodded, unable to hold back the tears this time. “Don’t be scared to talk to me next time. I’ll always be here to listen from now on.”

Aitana wiped her tears away, and nodded, bringing you in for a soft kiss. She whispered repeatedly how much she loved you, and you could only silently thank the universe for giving you the love of such a good woman.

You spent the rest of the evening in her arms as you discussed how things could be better in your relationship, and when dinner time rolled around, the two of you went into the kitchen to prepare food together.

At the end of the night, you posted a picture of Aitana on your Instagram story. ‘My love mine all mine’, you had captioned it, before putting your phone on silent. The mayhem was looming, but you may just have enough to power through the sudden limelight that was waiting to point toward you, and those hazel eyes made it all worth it.

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmatí x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #aitana bonmatí imagines #aitana bonmati #aitana bonmatí #aitana bonmati angst #woso fanfics #woso imagines #woso x reader #ingrid engen #fridolina rolfö #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #lucy bronze

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darlingmbappe · 1 year

Text

The Loneliest | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Epilogue]

Summary: Your fiancé missing your birthday is the icing on the cake to a horrible couple of months. Now, you’re left to pick up your broken pieces, ending the chapter in your life that includes Kylian Mbappé.

Warnings: Complete angst all the way through, Kylian being a bad fiancé, fighting, breaking an engagement, lots of crying, cussing, this one’s kind of long so beware. Spoiler: no happy ending. Let me know if I missed anything. — English is not my first language —

Mornings used to be your favorite.

You’d wake up way too early to the sound of Kylian’s alarm for your liking, but it didn’t even matter. The hour or so you got to spend with your fiancé before he left were sacred, it was special. They were filled with easy conversation, tired hugs and sleepy kisses on the shoulder, the occasional quickie, or at least a cheeky squeeze of your ass. It felt like very moment spent together was precious. You felt loved by Kylian so much it made your stomach turn with butterflies just thinking about him.

Now, it felt like those domestic moments were a distant memory. Sure, all couples gradually get less and less lovey-dovey the longer they’re together, but the change was drastic. It was like you barley knew him anymore.

You’ve attempted to start conversations with Kylian about this. Multiple times, in fact. Immediately, he’d get defensive, ending in arguments that kept getting worse and worse. It’s difficult to have to tip toe around your feelings in order to avoid a fight. He stopped making you feel special.

This morning, you woke up knowing it will be a hard day; all alone in your shared king sized bed.

Today is your birthday, and you don’t think Kylian knows this. After many weeks of deep reflection and thought, you know that today might be the last day of your three and a half-year long relationship with Kylian Mbappé — a man who stole your heart and still has it. Once treasured, now barely beating. The diamond sitting on your left ring finger had started feeling like a foreign object, like something your body wanted to reject. It’s lost it’s comfort, now you seemed to lug around old memories you clung onto for dear life.

Kylian didn’t come home last night, though you saw on his private Snapchat story that he was safe, sound, and plastered out of his mind at some club with friends you didn’t even know. He couldn’t find it in him to text you back after 9 o’clock, when that morning he said he would be home no later than 8:30. He found a simple ‘going out, don’t wait up for me’ to be sufficient communication for the night.

You called Kylian, instead it went straight to voicemail. Your texts to him weren’t going through, either. He didn’t have training this morning because the coaches had a conference in London, so you knew he had to be home soon.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you made your way to the kitchen for a bowl of bland cereal and coffee for one.

“Happy birthday to me.” You mumbled, looking down at your sad birthday breakfast. Compared to the last few years where Kylian prepared you a delicious meal, hired a chef, or took you out to the fanciest café in Paris — this meal actually made you lose your appetite.

Across town, Kylian was waking up with a pounding sensation in his head and no recollection of the night before.

“What happened last night?” Kylian grumbled as he woke up to the bright sunlight streaming in from the open shutters. His neck had a kink in it from passing out on his friend Paolo’s Airbnb couch in the early hours of the morning, his voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “Fuck.” He covered his face from the blinding rays and felt around for his phone.

He hasn’t gotten drunk that heavily in so long, but when two of his old friends came to Paris for a few weeks, he couldn’t resist giving into their pleads when they’d asked him to tag along for a fun night on the town.

“Bro, you were so drunk last night.” He heard his other friend Bernardo chuckle, his voice almost gone as well from the festivities of the previous night. Kylian sat up, seeing both men looking half dead and clinging onto coffee mugs like a child would cling onto its mothers leg.

The guys chuckled in the kitchen. He smelled eggs cooking but they just made him nauseous. “What time is it? Where’s my phone?”

“Oh…” Paolo snickered and pointed at the bowl full of rice in the center of his kitchen island. “Yeah, man… I don’t know if the rice did much for it. It’s fucked.”

Kylian shot up toward his cell, not even remembering putting it in the rice last night. He carefully picked it up, the entire screen was shattered.

“Putain…” He attempted to hold down the power button just in case, glancing over to the microwave to see the time. 12:36pm. “Merde!”

He had an important meeting with his PR team about potential sponsorships for next years season at 2 o’clock, and if he showed up sweating whiskey with an obvious hangover, the brand reps might think twice before giving him any deals.

He bid his old friends goodbye but not before promising to go out again soon. A short taxi ride later, he was able to make it back home just a little after 1 o’clock.

Kylian bursts through the front door, booking it toward the shower in your ensuite bathroom, running right past you on the bed without a glance or even a hello.

You’d been trying to decide all day if you were pissed at him or just super sad, but seeing him ignore you that way made you realize that it didn’t matter. He stopped making you happy, making you both pissed and sad — a dangerous combination.

You get up and follow him in there as he hopped around trying to take his skinny jeans off.

“I’m gonna be late.” He panted, sliding inside the shower.

You assumed if he knew he would’ve said something… happy birthday… I love you… I’m sorry…

Curious and resentful, you stand close to the shower door so he could hear you. “Where are you going? I thought we…” You blink tears back, sighing and trying to get control of your wavering voice, “… I thought we could do something tonight.”

This wasn’t even the plan, but you were trying to find anyway for him to redeem himself.

“No, (Y/N). I can’t today, okay?” He snapped. “I’m in a rush. Can you please just pick out a nice outfit for me, quickly.”

You shake your head in disbelief, wiping a stray tear that rolled down your face, sniffling once. Kylian hears this and pokes his head out. “Hey,” his barely softer, “Look, sorry but I’m in a huge rush. It’s been a shit morning.”

“Me too.” You mumble, disappointment laced in your words but Kylian didn’t seem to catch onto it.

“Also, my phone shattered at some point last night, so can you call Thérèse and have her drop me off a new one at the training center?”

You huffed, getting control of your emotions that were simmering into anger. One more chance, you thought as you were about to walk out of the bathroom, you turn. “Do you want to do something when you get home? Maybe even just dinner here, a movie?”

“Maybe.” He said back, turning off the shower. All you could do is roll your eyes and bite your tongue. You were trying to give him every opportunity to come back from this.

You didn’t want to end it, but you promised yourself that if he fucks up today, that was it. You can’t keep hoping he’ll become the person he was before. He won’t listen when you talk anymore or even meet you in the middle. You have too much respect for yourself to settle for someone who can’t appreciate you.

You dry laughed. “Maybe.” You mocked, another angry tear rolling down your face, storming back into the bedroom and getting under the covers, arms crossed.

You wanted to sob, but choked it down when Kylian stormed out of the bathroom, wet and holding his towel up around his waist. “Why are you so moody?” He didn’t even look at you, just shook his head and threw his hand down, exasperated when he realized you weren’t putting an outfit together for him. “I just asked you to help me out.” He tusks. “Are you just going to lay around all day, then?”

You knew this tone. The one where something else was bothering him except he expressed it by nitpicking at anything in front of him. Being with him for so long, you knew how to gently pry out the real reason why he was snappy. Right now, there was no way were you even attempting to help him out in any way.

“Looks like it, huh?” You gritted through your teeth. You could practically feel the eye roll he gave you even though neither of you would look at each other.

He muttered something you couldn’t hear as he walked into the closet, hurriedly throwing on some outfit. “I didn’t feel like fighting today, (Y/N).” He growled and threw on a white hat. “Today has been miserable so far.”

“Miserable for you?” You gaped, face getting angrily red.

“Oh, don’t start.” He spat, grabbing his keys and walking out of the room.

You jumped up and stomped out of the room behind him, seeing him almost at the bottom of the stairs. “Kylian.”

He groaned, continuing to run down the steps. “I don’t have time for a fucking fight right now!”

“Kylian!” You yelled from the railing just as he grabbed the door handle. With an exasperated turn around, he locked eyes with your teary ones. “When you get home… we need to talk.” You didn’t try and hide your sadness this time, knowing how the talk was going to end. The sentence squeaked out, like your forced it.

He paused, taking his hand off the door handle. “Fine.” He said this differently upon seeing your broken demeanor, shuffling in place. Kylian checked his watch, looking back up at you. You stared back, watching him hesitantly leave your shared home.

Kylian knew he’d been fucking up with you lately. Coming home late, forgetting to call or text back, paying less and less attention to you as the season progressed. He knew he was getting too comfortable and at some point stopped putting in any effort. The worst was that he’d been taking his frustrations out on you, shutting you out. He watched as you tried to smile through his snarky and quick comments, feeling bad immediately but he just didn’t know how to deal with that kind of guilty emotion.

Your engagement has been a long one. Nine months in and you guys hadn’t even set a date yet. Time kept slipping through the glass, he wondered when the last time you’d even brought up the wedding was — wondering when the last time he even thought about it directly after.

The whole way to work he watched out the window, lost in thought about how he needs to be better. So much so that his driver had to tell him that they’d arrived. He was actually early. With a big fake smile on his face, he did his best to set it all aside, turning on work-mode.

Meanwhile, you had a really nice cry. The kind where you just let it all out because you knew no one was around to hear or pity you. Once you pulled yourself together, you gathered your suitcases from the attic.

It was obvious you couldn’t take everything that was yours. You’d bought so many things for this place, for your shared home… so you focused on the things you were for sure taking with you. All your clothes, makeup, sentimental items, and the fruit bowl you found in a market in Spain were secured inside your bags. You stopped and cried so many times… over a pair of shoes that he bought for you or a picture that brought back sweet memories… all these momentos felt wasted.

Yesterday, you were certain that he would remember what today was. So certain that you convinced yourself you didn’t need to get a hotel. You wished you did, because doing it today felt so final, so depressing. And, upon looking at your empty side of the closet, vanity, side table, bathroom shelf… you had to pull yourself together and be strong. Remind yourself why you’ve resorted to this.

Back at the training grounds, Kylian snapped his last photo-op with the CEO of some athletic wear company, absolutely drained from having to pretend for hours. He had sent his assistant off for a new phone when he saw her, knowing you didn’t text her about him needing one.

He trudged over to Hakimi now that all of that was over, sitting down with a long huff, placing his head in his hands. He hadn’t talked to him all day, being occupied with offers and whatnot.

“Man, I’ve been texting you all day.” He patted his back once, turning to face him.

Kylian looked up at his friend, shaking his head. “It broke last night. Thérèse is out getting me a new one now.”

Hakimi sensed there was something bothering Kylian, but knew not to approach him too strongly. He nodded at his answer. “So, uh… I bet (Y/N)’s pissed, right?”

Kylian blew a raspberry. “Oh, yeah… so pissed…” He nodded with the most exhausted look on his face. “Wait, how’d you know that?”

“Well, I mean, Hiba would be pissed too.” Kylian raised an eyebrow, still confused on how he knew about your fight. “You know, if I had to work on her birthday like this.” He laughed at the thought. “I’d have a lot of groveling to do. Or, did you guys plan something on a different day?”

Kylian gazed up at Hakimi, eyes widening with the vague memory of todays date. “Wait.” He gulped, hands hovering over his head. “Is today the…” he flipped the calendar in his mind, praying that Achraf was mistaken about that. “Ah… merde! Putain! Shit!” Kylian smacked the table and bounced up out of the chair, heart beating a million miles a minute.

Hakimi stood too, watching Kylian pace with his hands cradling his head. “No… Kylian, you didn’t…”

He nods, panic settling in hardcore. “I yelled at her today. I asked her why she was being moody. I didn’t come home last night— ah baise moi, mec. je suis un putain d'idiot!” He cursed himself. Ah fuck me, man. I’m a goddamn idiot!

Thérèse speed walked over to the man in crisis, holding a brand new phone. “All your data’s transferred and everything!” She cheered. Kylian probably didn’t even thank her, going directly to his messages with you to text you that he’s so sorry and coming home right now. When he clicked on your icon, he saw all of the messages you sent him last night

You: Ky will u please come home — 9:25 pm

You: I know ur friends are in town and all but I seriously need u with me tonight — 10:48 pm

You: hello?? — 11:51 pm

You: are u okay? Do u need a ride? — 1:35 am

You: I’m getting worried. please just reply. I need to know ur okay Kylian — 1:40 am

You: nice Snapchat story. Good to know ur fucking fine. — 2:46 am

He ran a hand over his face, beginning to sweat with guilt. His eyes lowered on the screen, the small grey message by the keyboard truly making his stomach knot up even more.

(Y/N) stopped sharing their location with you.

His heart fell in his chest, churning… he felt like he was going to puke. Suddenly all of the conversations you tried to start with him about his behavior over the last six months came flooding back. The same conversations he moaned and groaned though, always deflecting until it turned into a fight. God, how badly he had been treating you… like you were a menace in his life — when really, without you, he wouldn’t be able to go on the same.

He began trying to call you and gathered his things, but his calls simply rang until it went to voicemail. “I-I have to go.” He stammered, almost tripping over his feet. Hakimi watched, shocked at the state of his best friend, knowing how he could get sometimes.

Kylian jumped in the town car as fast as his world-renowned legs could get him there, giving the driver instructions to get him home, and quick. The whole way he cussed at slow drivers, construction workers, red lights. He checked his new phone for the time; 10:37 pm and still fifteen minutes away from home.

God, please let her still be home.

He won’t know what to do with himself if you just left.

‘We need to talk’ rung over and over again in his head like a jinx. The way your voice cracked, the tears he saw you hold back. She’s so strong, he thought.

I raised my voice at her. I forgot her birthday and then treated her like she was the problem.

He pinched his leg to distract himself from crying. He has to be level headed, calm, logical, loving, and very apologetic— everything he hasn’t been for the last months. He knows he doesn’t deserve you, but can’t imagine what his life, his future will look like if he lets you slip through his fingers.

No girl has ever made him feel like this. Everything he looked for in a woman you embodied tenfold and he fucked it up. He has to fix this.

Kylian didn’t even let the car come to a full stop when he arrived, tripping over his own feet, realizing he left his coat in the back seat but really not caring at all. He just has to know you’re there. He looked toward the driveway, seeing your car still parked in its usual spot.

Thank the lord.

Fumbling with the keys, his shaking hands clicked the door open, seeing only the living room lamp on.

“Bébé?” He called. He saw your figure looking at him from the couch. “Oh, (Y/N)…” he breathed, walking over to get closer. You stoop up, meeting him halfway. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He heaved, breathless from his pounding heart.

The dull yellow light illuminating the side of your face showed him how puffy and red your eyes were, how downturned your usual smile was. He saw what he’d done to you, all the months you’ve had to walk on eggshells, the conversations that he’s turned on you, how he forgot your special day.

You still didnt say anything, keeping your arms crossed, looking him in the eye — the while begging yourself internally not to cave. His sweet eyes knew how to reel you in. You weren’t going to cave. You couldn’t.

“I forgot your birthday…” He whispered sadly, guilt drenched his tone, sending a cold depressing shiver down your spine.

Your eyes brimmed with tears again, but you bit your cheek and shook them away, having to be strong for yourself. “So, you finally remembered.” You sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, bèbè. Time just…” he stopped himself from making anymore excuses, “I’m just a fucking idiot. And I’m going to make it up to you. I promise, I’ll make it up to you.” He stammered, voice shaking from nerves.

“But, it’s not just about the birthday, Kylian. It’s been… it’s..–”

“–I know, bébé. I’ve been horrible to you. Truly horrible. You never deserved any of that.” He cautiously lifted his hand to yours, grabbing your fingers. All the words he was going to say suddenly didn’t feel good enough. No I’m sorry is going to feel sufficient.

You looked at your tangled hands, he played with your fingers anxiously, trying to catch your gaze, but it now stayed glued to the floor.

You took a deep breath and looked up at him with teary eyes — that of a wounded puppy. It broke him. “We need to talk.” Your words were laced in false strength, false confidence.

You didn’t know what the hell you were going to do once you leave him. Flying blind isn’t something you did very often, but you knew it’s what had to be done.

“Yes.” He nodded eagerly, trying to guide your hand toward the couch to sit. “Let’s talk. We can talk this all out, right?”

His hopeful tone made your heart break even more. The guiltiness that radiated off of him made it harder to do what you had to… his face fell when you let your hand slip back into your folded arms, turning away from him, sniffling.

“Kylian, I can’t… I can’t sit down with you and hold your hand and let you apologize to me. It’s not how this is gonna go.” Wiping your cheeks roughly, you turned to see his dropped face. “This talk… it’s going to be really hard. For both of us.”

He approached you, putting his hands on your forearms. “You’re scaring me, bèbè.”

Your lip quivered, not knowing how to tell him. You couldn’t look him in the eyes. “Kylian. I love you.”

“I love you too. I love you so much, (Y/N). I know we can work through this. I know it.” He pleaded, moving his face around to try and get you to look at him.

“No, Kylian. I love you, but…” You finally looked up, noticing he’d started crying as well. Ouch. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

He didn’t know what he was expecting. Sure, he was scared and sorry about what he did but the possibility of breaking up seemed impossible. Not like he was immune to repercussions, but you two just made sense. He loves you impossibly too much, but he’s forgotten to show you.

Kylian stood in shock, he felt his heartbeat in his teeth, his throat dry. “Don’t say that.” He whimpered. “Please, don’t say that.”

His hands traveled up to hold your face and he bent down to your level, needing you to look at him, to see how regretful he was, how much harder he will work at this. He touched his forehead to yours, wrestling with the temptation of falling down from anguish.

You shook your head between his palms, letting the tears fall freely, a small sob escaping. He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, attempting to hold you closer, squeaking out the smallest words; “Bèbè.” “No, no.” “Please.” “I’m so sorry.”

You grabbed his wrists, using all your strength to pull them from your face. Immediately, you turned around and grabbed a duffel bag he hadn’t noticed was sitting on the armchair. Your feet took you toward the exit.

“No.” His voice broken, his own face scrunched up and soaked with tears. “No, where are you going?”

It took everything in you not to comfort him, run into his arms, tell him it will be okay.

You pushed your instincts down and turning and shrugged instead, now feet away from the man you love, closing in on the front door. “I’m…” You felt a choking sob threatening to spill out of your mouth and had to look away, silently crying out with your hand covering you mouth. With a deep breath, you continued. “I’m leaving.”

“Well, when will you be back?” In just a few strides, he was back in front of you. He couldn’t help but hold your face again, wiping more tears with a gentle but pleading touch.

You gripped his wrists again, only this time, you weren’t strong enough to pull them away, instead feeling his warm skin one more time.

With a small shake of the head, you responded. “I’m not coming back, Kylian.”

“But… but this is your home. It’s our home.”

“I’m sorry, Kylian.” You finally ripped his hands from your face once more and adjusted the heavy strap on your shoulder. Turning around, your feet drag you to the front door. You reach into your back pocket and take out the house key that’s not longer attatched to your usual tassel keychain and set it down on the table.

He stood there and watched, now feeling helpless in this heart wrenching situation. It doesn’t seem like this is real, he has to be having a nightmare, just watching you leave his life and there’s nothing he can do about it — but it doesn’t stop him from trying, begging. “Amour, no. I can fix this, please just give me a chance to make this right.” He was desperate, once again approaching you.

Kylian sniffled, watching your every reaction, hoping for a glint of anything that would allow him to make it up to you. You looked down at your hands, then your left ring finger… everything in your body was holding you back from taking it off, but you mustered up every ounce of self control.

Kylian looked away as you slid the engagement ring off, hearing the light clink of it being set next to the keys. With his hands at his sides, back slouching, he looked back at your face, nodding in defeat.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a squeaky whisper.

“Me too.” He nods, looking down at your empty hand. He couldn’t but reach out, trapping your fingers delicately with his fingers, stepping closer.

His arm snakes around your waist, holding you, shaking with his suppressed cries. You allowed yourself to hug him back, to close the chapter, to feel his warm embrace again before you never would again.

The hug lasted for a while, swaying back and forth and crying into each others shoulders. He smelled like he always did, and you noted how hard it would be if you came across his familiar scent again. He also was getting high on your fumes, indulging in the coconut scented shampoo he had become addicted to. The touch of your hands clasping at his back made him cry harder, squeezing you tighter and lovingly.

You pulled back once your cries calmed, sniffling. He stayed close, lifting his eyes to look into yours. Before he knew how to stop himself, he closed in the space, landing his salty lips on yours, closing his eyes. You kissed him back, hating how much you’d miss him. The way his fingers dug into your hips made you lightheaded.

It’s too hard to stop, but you had to. Pulling away, you turned around quickly and left, sobbing all the way to your packed up car.

Kylian was glued in place. His heart had been put through a blender, his head throbbed, his chest was cold without you with him. He saw the flash of your headlights backing out and leaving the property reflect inside the dark and empty home.

He’s miserable, hollow. He’s angry at himself, maybe at you, even if he knows this was his own doing… the whirling in his brain wasn’t anywhere near as loud as the silence after you left — a deafening silence that followed him up to us bedroom, one he now only shared with his thoughts.

It killed him when he saw there was no longer a charger plugged next to your side of the bed, that your slippers were gone from their usual spot by the corner. None of your favorite books were displayed on the shelves, your skincare products left just a ring of residue on the sink. Stepping into the closet, he noticed it still smelled like you, but everything was gone. Everything but the shirts of his that you had stolen through the years, now neatly folded on top of one of his dressers. He wished you had taken them to remember him. He wished he could turn back time and do everything right.

Above all the sadness and the gaping hole is his heart was determination. He fucked up but he wasn’t about to do it again. You would not be the one that got away. It may be the last thing he ever does, but he’ll make it all up to you. He was prepared to go to the furthest lengths to hold you again. But, for now, he needed to wallow in self pity, feel everything that he needs to feel.

Not even on the chilliest Parisian night had his bed felt as cold as it did that day.

A/N: Okay I feel like I kinda dragged that out but angst! I’m contemplating a part 2 but I also kinda like leaving it at this… would y’all want another part? Also, the title is inspired by the song The Loneliest by Måneskin, listen to it after reading. Their new album is so fucking amazing. — Requests for Kylian Mbappé are open! —

#kylian imagines #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe angst #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappé x reader #achraf hakimi #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappé imagine #kylian x reader #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe blurb #kylian mbappe fic #Kylian mbappe break up #neymar #neymar imagines #neymar jr imagine

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evermore-fashion · 2 months

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New Paolo Sebastian Collection

If anyone is wondering why I haven't posted the latest Paolo Sebastian collection that was released a few hours ago. Well it's because I don't like it at all. I never thought I'd say that considering Paolo Sebastian is one of my all time favourite designers. However his new Spring 2024 Couture collection is in my opinion is as exciting as watching paint dry. It's sad to see a new high end fashion collection fall firmly into the dull category alongside the likes of Christian Dior, but it is what is it and it's simply not my taste. So if anyone wants to view the collection here is a link to Paolo Sebastian's website. Paolo Sebastian 'Allora Domenica' Spring 2024 Couture Collection

Does anyone remember Paolo Sebastian's 'Once Upon a Dream' Disney inspired collection? Now that was a Couture collection worthy of posting on here. EDIT: I've seen some rather interesting replies in regards to this post and all I have to say is, it's okay to criticise something you love. It doesn't make you any less of a fan for stepping out and voicing your opinion. Paolo Sebastian will always be my favourite designer but the "Allora Domenica" was simply not on par with his previous Spring Couture Collections. It's one thing to grow and mature as a designer but it's another to go off piste to the point where a new collection will eventually become swallowed up in the designers fashion back catalogue.

If you loved the collection, then I'm happy for you and that you get to enjoy it making the rounds on social media etc. Meanwhile I'll wait patiently for his Fall 2024 Couture collection when it debuts sometime in the summer and hope it's a step up from his Spring 2024 Couture collection.

#Paolo Sebastian #Personal

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ellethespaceunicorn · 1 month

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🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.

Title: No Good Deeds

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.

Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep

Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat

A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.

Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.

You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need.

Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.

“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.

“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.

“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.

When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.

“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.

“Mr. Levin-”

“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.

“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.

“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.

“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.

“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.

“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-”

Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?

“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers.

While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.

He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.

“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.

You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.

Did he think he was a charming prince?

“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.

Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.

“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.

You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.

“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.

You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.

He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.

“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.

When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears.

You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!

**Tag List**

I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.

#chris evans #ari levinson #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson smut #chris evans characters #ellethespaceunicorn fanfic #ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill #ask reply #landlord ari levinson #dark ari levinson #dark ari levinson fanfic #dark fic #dark fanfiction #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #dead dove

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

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On Your Six

Warnings: dark elements, stalking, violence.

Another sidequest complete (...or maybe you want more of this one? Let me know your thoughts!)

You have a second shadow. You're not alone. While your pursuer has given themself away, you're in no rush to do the same.

You keep going, slinking from pillar to pillar, balancing your target with whoever seems to have made you one. You keep your back to the wall as you grip your pistol, one ear listening ahead of you, the other behind you. You dip back into a pool of darkness and shuffle your foot to make it sound like you're running, let the noise peter off as you wait

A figure smoothly turns the corner and you stand unseen in the alcove. Shit, you know that goddamn strut. Even when he's trying to be covert, he's a dead giveaway.

What the hell is Hansen doing here? This isn't his kind of job. Unless you're his assignment.

You watch him creep past. He slows as he listens to the silence, stopping completely. You raise the barrel of your gun towards him as you tiptoe out from behind the pillar. He hisses into a cackle, raising his hands.

“Take it easy, toots,” he faces you slowly, “we're not enemies here.”

“Aren't we?” You approach with your hand steadied against your forearm.

“I'm just watching your six. Like a nice guy does.”

“Hansen,” you walk to him until you have the barrel to his back, “what the hell are you doing here? I'm not splitting the fee and I have no problem wasting a bullet in your ass.”

“Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” he gives a dramatic shiver, unfazed by the gun between his shoulder blades.

“This isn't an open bounty,” you snarl.

“Toots, if you're not gonna use that thing, put it away,” he turns to face you slowly, “at least, that's what I've always been told.”

You shake your head and scoff, lowering the gun halfway. You sneer at him in the darkness and huff, “why are you getting in my way? Again.”

“Again? What– are you talking about San Paolo? I'm flattered you remember–”

“I nearly lost an eye.”

“Really? You're looking good, toots–”

You close your eyes and exhale through your nose, “I don't have time for this.”

You sidestep him and continue down the pillared walkway. You keep along the wall and stop as you sense him following once more. You pull back and holster your gun, just as swiftly slipping free your knife. You spin to bring it just along Hansen’s throat.

“I'll tell you one last time,” you hiss.

“I'm helping–”

“I told you, you're not getting a cent.”

“Trust me, honey, the view is worth it–”

“You are–”

“Deranged. Devoted. A total bottom.”

You bite down another snipe as the stone pillar beside you cracks and powder puffs in the air. Fuck. You dip into the shadows as Hansen shoulders past and raises his gun. Two shots before he crams into the alcove next to you

“Really?” You sneer.

“Tight fit, babe, but always figured it would be,” he chortles as he squints into the darkness. “Think I got th–”

Another shot silences him. You wonder if he's hit but don't really care. You duck down and switch out your blade for your fun. You creep along, listening to the approach of those that pest has drawn in.

You weave in and out of shadows, zeroed in on the echoing footsteps. The first silhouette falls before your silenced shot, the second doesn't notice his comrades collapse until it's too late and he joins him on the stone. The third you don't spend the bullet and use the but of your gun against the back of his skull.

You hear a scuff and raise your gun. Hansen waves and pants as he appears once more.

“Got one,” he puffs proudly, “damn, look at that.” He marvels at the bodies heaped around your feet, “you work fast, baby.. I'm more the type to take it slow.”

“Ugh,” you scowl and turn away.

As you do, you hear Hansen barrel towards you. It's too late for you to get your aim. You dodge as best you can as the rifle levels across from you only to be bowled over from behind.

You hit the ground as a shot fires and Hansen grunts. He fires back and the man lands on the rifle with a rattling gasp.

Hansen hisses and drops to one knee, grasping his side as he wheezes. You sit up, check your gun, and stand. He should've stayed away.

You flinch as suddenly a loud thrum cuts the night air. Fuck. You look above as the helicopter rotor whirls loudly. You harumph and kick a body near your feet.

“Fuck.”

“Don't worry, baby, I can take you on a nice vacation, you don't need the bounty,” he sucks in air and stands, “I got you.”

You look at him and scoff. You sneer and bring your gun up, aiming at his ass as you fire. He yelps and falls back down, grasping his rear. You shake your head and mutter.

“Fucker.”

You spin and walk back the way you came. Dimwit better get the hint. Next time you'll aim higher.

“See ya soon, toots,” he calls after you in a strained grit, “probably in my dreams.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #drabble #lloyd sidequest #request

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osirisiii-bc · 3 months

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Papa's chasuble colours analysis.

It’s sad to see the fandom so sleepy, so what a better moment to be back with some ramblings…

So, we know each Papa got their own chasuble colour, but is it casually assigned?

In the Catholic church, vestments colours have specific meanings, usually they change based on the celebration or festivity period, so I thought it would be cool to find out if the meanings match in Ghost’s world too.

The colours used by our Papas are:

Papa IV - Blue: Advent. It is a period (usually 24 days) before Christmas. We witnessed his journey from Cardinal to Pope, with his ascension on stage; he basically reborn as Papa Emeritus IV. I think it would be a nice analogy to Christmas. Blue is also connected to the celebrations of the Holy Mary… I don’t think I have to say more.

Papa III - Purple: Lent. It is the 40 days period before Easter, when christians celebrate death and resurrection of Jesus… are you thinking what I’m thinking? Plus, purple is also the color of grief (death) in Catholic Church.

Papa II - Green: Epiphany/Pentecost. The Epiphany indicates many events in Catholicism, in particular the arrival of the Magis at Jesus’ birth, the event of his baptism and the Cana Wedding (that is also a badass painting of Paolo Veronese that the Louvre should give us back, btw. It is one of my life’s missions. They can keep the Mona Lisa.). So we have a birth (Year Zero), the moment Jesus becomes the “son of God” (Jigolo Har Megiddo, to say one) and a feast with wine (Body and Blood…?). The Pentecost is even more interesting; it is celebrated seven Sundays after Easter to celebrate the descent of the Holy Spirit on the Apostles, event that marks the start of the Catholic Church. Now, in 1966 Anton LaVey and Kenneth Anger founded the Church of Satan, declaring that year the Year One. Ghost did the Year Zero, which I always thought was a refer to both the christian Year Zero and the satanic Year One. In both cases, a birth/start is involved, so the birth of the Antichrist as main theme is on point.

Papa I - Red/White: red for Holy Week/Pentecost, white for Christmas/Easter/Marriage. It is often said that Primo represents everything that’s holy, so a refer to the holiest of Christian festivities would make sense to me.

I haven’t gotten into all the details because there would be too much to say and analyze. I don’t know if TF has ever planned all this, maybe not - even if in a last year interview he said he was planning the color scheme of the new era, so it shouldn’t be completely casual-, especially with the first Papas, but even if he didn’t his ass is lucky enough to catch some cool coincidences.

#ghost band #the band ghost #ghost lore #ghost bc #emeritus family #ghost papas

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martellspear · 4 months

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We don't know the entire story yet, so it's impossible to make a judgement like you're doing.

I'd argue that Elia was in fact in on all of Rhaegar's schemes to bring about prophecy. They both knew she couldn't have anymore kids, and so she allowed him to seek out a woman who could...Lyanna.

A crown prince must have more than 2 kids, Elia failed her only purpose. No wonder Rhaegar turned to Lyanna.

I mean, Dorne seems OK with anything so long as there's an agreement between all parties involved.

Robert didn't love any of the women he slept with. His vows meant nothing.

Rhaegar meant everything. He cared for Elia and his children, but also seemed to be in love with Lyanna. His vows had meaning, even if they were interpreted differently.

Hi, anon. I'll assume you've read "tolerate it" and that's what made you come here.

We don't know much about them but I highly doubt Elia was 100% on board with everything. I think he shared some aspects of the prophecy but can you, honestly, tell me that she would take part in the most humiliating moment of her life? Willingly?

"Jon Arryn and Robert and Lord Hunter joking a moment before what was happening dawned on them, Ned watching as Rhaegar was about to stop in front of his sister, mad Aerys glowering in the distance, Elia stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong, Jon Connington probably looking vaguely sad, and so on." — source

That's what Paolo Puggioni, an artist George hired, said the author himself told him.

One of my darling moots put in words, better than I would ever be able to, thoughts about Elia and the polyamory relationship some people like to insert her into, you can read it here.

Yes, Elia could be accepting and supportive of others who do it, it's their life. But she's the Crown Prince's wife and future queen. Why would she even consider adding one more person to their relationship? Especially knowing the consequences of those? And not only for her personal life and her children; think about Dorne, the Stormlands and the North's reaction to such insult and pair it up with everything the war cost (Brandon and Rickard died before it even truly started). "But with Rhaegar being king-" George has made clear how fragile monarchy in Westeros actually is.

Elia would put her children in a dangerous position if she not only fully agreed to Rhaegar's plans but also welcomed Lyanna and his bastard. Additionally, I'd love it if you could point it out for me where it says a crown prince can't have only two children (seriously, I'd like to know). Elia gave him two healthy kids and it almost cost her her life, she didn't fail anything.

(consider this to be about book!rhaegar and lyanna; my thoughts on their show version couldn't be more different)

I don't think Rhaegar loved Lyanna at all. And sometimes it honestly felt like he'd rather if she died after giving birth. She was a means to an end. Personally, I believe he manipulated her and then either kept information from her (she wouldn't stay if she knew what happened to her brother and father) or kept her there against her will; two disgusting scenarios. Rhaegar was obsessed with the prophecy, he changed his entire lifestyle for it. If it was love, he could've abandoned his crown and gone to Essos 🤷🏻‍♀️.

If Elia was aware, why wasn't she in Dorne and completely safe? Why didn't Oberyn know of this? "No, but he goes after the Lannisters-" he wanted justice. Even if the person who set them up was Rhaegar, the one who gave the order was Tywin and the one who did it was his beast. Aerys and Rhaegar were not people he could go after, maybe in his afterlife.

More importantly, and I'll be repeating myself here, it doesn't matter if she loved Rhaegar or not or how deeply she did it. Rhaegar's bastard is a direct threat to her children and their future and I doubt Elia - or anyone who hasn't lost their wits - would happily comply with that.

I have done nothing but gathering information and filling voids, what most do in this fandom tbh. There's little we know of how it was like but Rhaegar did hurt Elia again and again; and I do believe he was fond of her, which only makes things worse.

I don't have to know his thoughts to know that some of his actions were disrespectful, hurtful and disgusting; Elia doesn't have to agree or be aware of his plans for crowing another woman QoL&B (and later run away with her) to be humiliating.

Rhaegar, and Rhaegar alone, handled everything with all the sensitive and grace of a reversing dump truck.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #elia martell #oberyn martell #anti lyanna x rhaegar #anti rhaelya #rhaegar targaryen #chatterbox nia

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theoneeyedprince · 7 months

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Ripped Away

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (third person narration)

Summary: It was too soon when Aemond was ripped away from her.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Angst, F&B (future HOTD) spoilers, major character death, grief, mourning, depressive thoughts, allusions to depression, psychosis and suicide, mentions of self-harm.

Word count: 3.3k

From the author: Congratulations dear @arcielee on your 1k milestone! Your writing and your kind, witty personality deserve love and attention on this and even much bigger scale <3 I chose my favourite song from Unreal Unearth, Francesca, which both caters to my obsession with classic lit and poetic lyricsm. Not to mention the tragedy of the story of Paolo and Francesca told by Hozier in these lyrics! Where he was inspired by Dante I was partially inspired by Shakespeare's character of Ophelia, the painting by Sir John Everett Millais and the 2018 film starring Daisy Ridley. So as you might've gathered I love tragedies too much to pass on the opportunity to write an angsty one shot that perhaps might tug at some heartstrings.

The battle above the Gods Eye took place at dusk─a beautiful sight to behold but for now I had to make use of the only footage we have of Aemond on Vhagar (it's a minor thing to explain myself for I know but as a person who pays attention to details I simply had to).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it my friend and too everyone who decides to read it <3

Main Masterlist

Dividers by @itbmojojoejo

The sky.

She could not take her eyes from it.

Bathed in orange, yellow and purple brought such peace to her mind that for a moment she forgot why they are here.

Then a scarlet shadow appears, circling once, twice above them only to descend soon after.

The voices are muffled as if she held her head under water, faces of her beloved and his uncle are out of focus and she cannot help the dreadful feeling that encompasses her.

Then he comes back to her, black and gold of his armour shining in the light of the setting sun, taking her in his arms and joining their lips together with a promise of his eternal love.

It is the last time. She knows it in her bones, in the erratic beating of her heart and in the painful longing in his lilac eye.

She curses the witch of Harrenhal who spoke to them in riddles. She curses his uncle for coming here and sealing their fate.

She curses him for his rage and desperate need for vengeance.

Silent tears stream down her wind-beat face as she watches him mount his battle-scarred dragon and fly out to their last fight.

When the images are blurry and covered in fire and smoke, the sounds are sharp as the blades in the dragonriders’ grip and she wishes it was the opposite.

Her screams are forceful and feral in their strength but no noise comes out of her throat, even though her mouth is open wide and her eyes are widened in horror.

There is no mistake that she cries out for the sight of the dismay that befalls before her.

And yet although her body convulses from agony, she cannot hear herself fall apart.

As dusk and darkness swallow Black Harren’s accursed seat the fire of her life and his dragon are gone.

Gone from the world, gone from the Targaryen family lineage, gone from her life.

Little did she know how untrue that would be for her heart would never cease to beat for him and he would not give up on the promise they made to each other.

So sacred that even the greedy hands of the Stranger would not shake it from her and nor Seven Heavens, nor Seven Hells were fit to house a love like theirs.

All everlasting, all ever-present, all deathless.

She was dreaming of him.

Dreaming of her Prince.

A memory turned to a nightmare she knows by heart. Two dragons screeching, two dragons roaring, two dragons biting and clawing at each other. Then two dragons falling.

Falling

and falling

and falling.

Green and red sinking to the bottom of a lake.

The memory is one of the many hauntings her beloved bestows on her.

The days after the tragedy above the Gods Eye turned into moons and if not for one day only that knowledge would be lost on her.

Whenever the twenty second day of each moon arrives at her doorstep her maids lay a bouquet of lilacs beside the food on the silver tray they bring to her.

It is the only day they are allowed to hear her voice and it is nothing like the one they knew before that calamitous day. It is quiet and rough around the edges like a broken whisper.

The night terrors do not let her remember her screams but she can still feel the effects of them in the inside walls of her throat.

Wailing and screeching─that is what was heard on that fateful day. No one was certain if the latter came from the dragons alone or if it was her who let out such horrific sounds.

Haunting.

Her grief was and still is haunting her.

And it has been so long.

The Queen spared her on accounts of madness just like she did with The Dowager Queen but she wishes she did not. Perhaps if she carried his child, they would put both of them to death and this agony would end before it managed to slip into her veins─a poison that keeps her alive only to make her suffer.

An everlasting torture.

One that perhaps only her mother-by-law knows the effects of. Alicent Hightower withers away in a tower just like she does in her marital chambers. They say The Dowager Queen succumbed to the same fate as her daughter.

Madness formed from grief.

Grief born from love lost.

Neither of them makes an effort to seek each other out. Perhaps looking into her eyes would break The Green Queen completely. Knowing that she is the last person to see her son alive.

The Gods Eye haunts her.

It does not care if the sun shines or if the moon casts its glow; if her footsteps echo in the red corridors or if her feet take her for a walk around her chambers; if she sits in front of her table, food getting cold on her plate or if she sinks into the dreamless darkness.

The lake calls to her.

Come, come, come.

He whispers to her.

Why have you not come? Come, come, come.

I cannot, my love, you know that, her silent answer comes all sad and tired from repeating herself.

When was the last time she spoke up and had a conversation with someone? Let her voice fill the air around her?

She cannot recall.

There is no one she could be able to talk to anyway.

Except for him but he talked to her every day since his death. Does finding a chatting companion matter if she has his smooth, low timbre filling in the air around her?

The sun slowly rises up in the sky, bathing it in orange and yellow hues until they fade, giving it to the light shade of blue that matches the Blackwater Bay waters below.

Her nightgown drapes down the wall, the bottom hem brushing against the stony floor as she sits down on the wide windowsill observing how the day ends once again.

Another routine she created for herself after being dragged away from the lake to the Red Keep.

Her eyes close at the distant memory, throat tightening and tears welling under her eyelids.

Come to me, come to me, come…

A restrained sob escapes her dried out throat.

I cannot, my love. They won’t let me, her answer comes in an echo, bouncing off the walls of her mind.

Will it ever stop, she asks the silence. It is her only companion these days.

Why haven’t you come? Come to me.

Please someone make him stop, her mind screams. I cannot bear it, her heart aches.

It is a constant─the whispers, the pleas, the urging that she hears. Yet when she searches for the source it is nowhere to be found.

He is not here.

Not anymore.

The maids come, light the fire in the hearth and leave her to eat and dress for the day alone. They know by now that she does not want their help and it took just one stern stare and a rasped out order for them to do what she asked them of.

A small lilac bouquet lays on the silver trail—the thin stems of the flowers are strapped around with a linen string.

Her heart stops for a moment and she exhales. Cautious fingers pick it up, a single tear falls on the fragile petals and a line is engraved in her bed frame.

She stays pinned into place, examining the engraving for a moment, one trembling finger tracing it ever so gently as if she could not believe it to be true.

Twelve. There are twelve tiny pale brown lines decorating the bed both of them used to share.

If the time has reached the day when she lost a part of herself, will they let her see him? Has the lake changed? Would she find him at the bottom of it?

It is from the depths of it that his calling must have been coming.

Does he want her to save him? Take him out of a place a dragon does not belong in. Water is not where it should rest, it is in fire it should be bathed, ashes it should be turned to.

He would get a cold down there. He should come back before he gets sick, she worries, staring at the wool blanket that covers her from her arms to her toes.

Her feet are cold despite the fire and the layers that cover her body. She does not however mind the harsh edges under the soles of her feet. After all, the discomfort cannot compare to the one he has been experiencing for the past year.

Come, come, come to me.

Her long nails dig into the soft flesh of her palms, pushing them deeper and deeper until all she feels is that familiar stinging pain.

She should have been used to it by now. To the pains of her body, to the reminders of her mind, to the emptiness of her heart. But her body betrays her each time, ache spreading through her whole being, screaming at her that he is still within her and when she hurts herself she hurts him too.

Easing her nails away and leaving hollow, red marks in their wake, she hears him once again as if he waited for her to stop.

The flowers slip through her grasp landing at her feet and the smell of lilac hits her tarnished senses.

The blanket drops to the stony floors when she crouches to pick them up. It pains her to be able to bury her nose into the delicate petals and inhale that comforting smell. He took baths with them, she remembers helping him prepare them and putting oils in his beautiful long silver hair, while he took the purple flowers between his fingers and put them behind her ear as in gratitude.

Another sob rocks through her as she forces herself to stand up and leave the flowers on their bedsheets. Another piece added to the make-shift shrine of their shared love.

How she wishes to have a place to bewail openly, to be granted a space to let her sorrows flow out of her aching body onto the floor in the Targaryen mausoleum, to bring him lilac and lavender and sing to him in the mother language of his ancestors’ he so willingly tried to teach her.

How she wishes to know that he is near and she would come to him every day so he would not be suffering alone.

But they were forced to bear their pains on their own. No one to hold them through this terrifying darkness.

Come. I will take the pain away.

His voice, the one that is the only thing of him left now, stops her heart. It does not taunt her for her absence. Is it possible that he is not crossed with her anymore?

For the hundredth time, she paces around their chambers looking into every corner, every ridge and crack for him.

Head turns frantically from one side to the other, up to the ceiling and down on the carpet below.

Why did you say that, her eyes widen with the unspoken question. Where should I come, where are you hiding?

Come to me. You know the way.

The Gods Eye.

The lake.

Come to me.

Her hands tremble when they tug at the roots of her hair.

They will not let me out, she repeats over and over again until her fingers dig into her scalp painful enough to let it go at last.

Let me hurt, she pleads to her body, they said he has a sword piercing his skull. He is suffering, he has always been suffering, let me suffer with him.

She sobs, slouching, fingers holding onto the hem of her nightgown.

An image of pure misery─a woman lost in solitary grief; a forlorn creature haunted by her past.

It is all she has done. Sob, cry out, stare out the window or at the walls that surround her, listen to his whispers.

Whispers she grew familiar with but which still send her into the abyss of madness.

Come to me. I will take the pain away.

The dust flows up into the stale air once her body falls on the old carpet, settling in her hair and on the thin material of her nightgown.

Make it stop, someone make him stop, the screaming thoughts run through her mind as they always do and keep on coming over and over again but his soft pleading only increases in magnitude forcing her to claw at her face.

Claw

and claw

and claw.

Until her face burns and her hands give up.

He knows she cannot visit him. How many times can she tell him that? How many times? Cannot he understand?

She lays on the dirty floor, pressed to the foot of her bed and for the first time in weeks lets her voice out as she screams into the empty space.

He is gone and yet he is still here─a tormenting ghost of the past she only sees in her dreams now.

And as the time passes the love, the longing, the sorrow seems to grow expanding the wound that was carved into her chest when she watched his dragon fall and growl, while the other fell and screeched.

Did he think of her in his final moments? Did he hear how she called out his name into the wind, not stopping even when they grabbed her, even when they forced her back into the Keep and even when they gagged her mouth with a cloth so she could just stop wailing?

I will make it stop. Come to me.

Can he truly? Is there a way out of this torture? Can she trust the ghost living in her mind?

A scattered mind. One of the three that have lived in this castle in the last few decades.

Despite that his voice comes through the cracks, filling in the empty spaces she knows are lost to her forever─memories of her childhood, life at the court and their marriage. They are a mist and every time she reaches for them they dissolve as if they never existed. The battle above the Gods Eye ripped it all away from her. Only fragments peak through when the Gods grant her a sound night of sleep.

Now… now it is his muffled whispers that fill what has been taken away. But the composed, ever so reposeful tone she loved to drink from his lips has become her ruin.

How much longer can she endure it?

Come,

come,

come.

She curses her heart for it is its fault as it cannot cease to beat for him. It should have drowned with him. She should have drowned with her husband.

The doors open but she is too tired to move. Two voices speak to her, gentle and caring voices she knew since the day of her wedding celebrations. Soft hands pull her up and dress into a servant attire and they kneel in front of her, asking her to listen.

She cannot be entirely sure but the young maids speak of taking her out of the castle. Is this some cruel joke, she thinks but they can easily read her expressions by now, ensuring her that they’ve been planning this for months so she can visit him at last.

Visit him at last.

Come to me. You know the way.

The Gods Eye.

Come to me. I will take the pain away.

A glimpse of hope shines in her eyes and the red-haired maid brushes the falling tears away, while the other freckled face looks at her with sadness, putting the small bouquet of lilacs in her bodice.

Trembling hands reach for theirs and as the year of despair passes by with the movement of the sun she allows this act of kindness that has become so foreign to her.

The journey through the servant halls, the kitchens and a hidden underground corridor is finished quickly and her heart stucks in her throat. Every muscle in her body hurts and her legs shake when she mounts the horse but it is his voice that pushes her further on, his ghost guiding her hands to yank at the reins, pulling her towards him.

Towards the Gods Eye.

Dusk welcomes her in hues of purple, pink and blue. The blinding orange of the sun in the centre of it as it descends behind the trees. And a dark shadow of Harrenhal looms in the distance.

Her maids stay with horses, giving her space to reunite in peace and that she does.

She is unsure at first, taking careful steps towards the bank where land and water meet.

It is strangely quiet with only wind rustling the leaves of the trees and swaying the grass beneath her feet.

My love, she calls out within the confines of her mind.

He does not answer.

She asks again and again until she feels the same desperation and aching longing that accompanied her since his death crashed onto her.

“Aemond…”

The sound of her own voice startles her but not as much as hearing his name being spoken out loud. It is heart wrenching, the realisation that not even she has uttered it until this moment.

She covers her mouth as she stifles a sob, the river of tears pulling at the base of her throat ready to spill out from beneath her eyelids.

“It was too soon when you were so cruelly ripped away from me,” she chokes out.

The flashing memory of the dragon battle weighs on her shoulders and she bends forward with the burden of it, long tangled hair falling down like a curtain down her shoulder partially hiding her face from the lake’s watchful eyes.

I have been waiting for so long.

At first she barely hears it but then her heart surges forward, furiously beating against her ribcage, waiting in anticipation for him to speak again.

Come to me.

The surface of the lake beckons her to come closer and she leans in, first dipping her hands and then kneeling into the lukewarm waters in order to search for his lifeless form.

Her fingers push into the dump earth, deeper and deeper until she smells the intensity of it. An earthworm crawls out and wriggles away from the frantic movements of her hands.

“Aemond… oh my love… I'm here, I promise I am,” she cries out.

Only when her garments hang heavy from her body does she stop moving.

The sky’s purple and blue─colours of the eyes she so adored─begin to darken in their shade, soon to leave her alone like her beloved did twelve moons ago.

As she stands in the water that swallowed her one and only love so brutally and with no scrupule, she suddenly feels overtired.

Too weary to come back to the forest she lays her body on the still surface and drifts, giving herself to her husband’s grave.

The cold of the lake sips into her bones and with a shaky, heavy breath she asks the darkening lake, “Will you take away the pain, my love? Can you help me now that I am here with you?”

I will. Come, come to me. There is no pain in the depths where I lay.

On the other side of the lake, a willow tree leans over the water like it did when the green and red dragons danced above its upper branches and mourns the love that was lost, the love that came back and the love that reunited at last.

The Taglist

@arcielee ♛ @chompchompluke ♛ @melsunshine ♛ @snh96 ♛ @tsujifreya

Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be included in my Aemond or general tag ♡

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